Snake in the Glass
by Esther Kirkland
Summary: Dipper and Mabel find an old metal box buried in the woods of Gravity Falls, but what lurks inside threatens what Dipper holds most dear: his sister. [Purely an adventure-fic, hopefully in the same vein as an episode of the show. No shipping, spoilers, or theories; takes place anytime between Scareoke and Not What He Seems.]
1. Chapter 1

Dipper sighed, flopped on his back, and dropped the journal over the side of his bed. It landed on the attic floor with a muffled thump, and from the other side of the room, Mabel glanced up from whatever brightly-colored, yarn-noodle-and-glue project she was working on.

"Are you _finally_ going to give that thing a break?" she asked.

Dipper sighed again and locked his hands behind his head. "I don't get it," he said. "I know the clues to revealing the Author's identity have got to be _right_ under my nose, but I just can't see it."

"Maybe you need glasses," Mabel teased. "Hey! Then you can wear a flower pot and you'll look just like Grunkle Stan!"

"First of all, it's a fez. And second, I don't need glasses." Dipper sat up. "It's just that everything here is so strange, I'm losing track of what normal is. I need…I don't know what I need."

Mabel stood, scattering glitter and uncooked noodles. "You need a break, that's what you need. Let's go for a hike. In the Great Outdoors!" She spread her arms like a showman.

Dipper glanced at a discarded copy of the _Gravity Falls Gossiper_ on the floor. The headline read "HEAT WAVE SWEEPS OVER GRAVITY FALLS" and a picture of the Nathaniel Northwest statue.

It was distinctly drooping.

"Mabel, today is supposed to be the hottest day of the whole summer," he pointed out. "Why can't we stay home – in the air conditioning – and… I dunno. Watch tv or something?"

"Dipper." Mabel crossed her arms. A noodle hung from her elbow. "Do you really want to waste away your summer doing the same things we could be doing back home?"

"No…"

"Then come _on_ , Dipcicle, let's _go_!"

It would be overstating things to say that the woods surrounding the Mystery Shack were gloomy, intimidating, or really in any way creepy.

The woods were far more clever than that.

No, these woods looked perfectly normal until you started looking close enough to notice the…oddities.

But not today. Today, Dipper was determined to not think about any strange creatures or strange plants or strange…anything. The journal was tucked safely away under his bed, Waddles was snuffling at a tuft of weeds that were _obviously_ a very _normal_ shade of magenta, and Mabel was skipping along singing the one line she knew from Several Timez song "Nothing Will Keep Me From Loving You Excessively."

Waddles burped a major chord and looked at Dipper accusingly.

"Nuh-uh," he said, waving his hands. "I didn't hear that. At all." Sweat dripped down his face, and he glared at Mabel, who was wearing one of her baggy sweaters in spite of the ridiculous heat. This one sported the word _SMILE_ in multicolored letters.

"How are you _possibly_ wearing that sweater?" he demanded. "It's like, a million degrees out here."

Mabel swiped an armful of sweat from her forehead and grinned. "Sweaters are cool."

Dipper rolled his eyes and promptly tripped over something in the path.

"Whoa-what – _whoa_!" he exclaimed, tumbling head-over-heels into a pile of leaves. "Ow." He rubbed his head. "What was that?"

Mabel prodded the spot with her toe and gasped. "Dipper! You've gotta see this!"

It was a small, metallic…something, protruding from the bare dirt of the path.

"It looks like a box corner," Dipper said, excitement coloring his voice. "Maybe it's another journal!"

"Or maybe it's pirate treasure! Or fairies!"

"I'm not thinking fairies." Dipper knelt down, and started scraping at the dirt around the object with a stick. "But whatever it is—"

"Dig it up! Dig it up!"

Waddles grunted in agreement with Mabel's chanting – and Dipper ignored the fact that the pig was still tuned to C#. His sister grabbed another branch, and together the twins started unearthing the…whatever it was.

The dirt was rock-hard from the lack of recent rain, baked by the heat and crumbling into dust puffs as they worked. But between their sticks and a handy clothes hanger Mabel found in the bushes, they managed to scrape away enough earth to get under the corner of the object.

"It's a box," Dipper exclaimed. He wedged his fingers under the exposed corner and levered up. With a snapping sound, the dry earth shuddered and surrendered, releasing its treasure.

Dipper pulled the box free and let it clunk to the ground. About the size of a shoebox, it was made of dented metal and spotted with rust stains. Mabel crouched down beside him and nudged the box with her stick. It made a dull rattling noise.

"What do you think it is?" she asked. "Treasure?"

Dipper pulled the box into his lap. His fingers poked and prodded all over the sides and corners, but—

"That's weird," he said. He held the thing up to the light and squinted at it. "There's no opening."

"Lemme see it." Mabel took the box-thing and examined it, her tongue sticking out in concentration. She peered at it from every angle, tapping on the corners with her fingernails. Finally, she dropped the thing on the ground and jumped on it.

"Give up your secrets!" she demanded.

"Mabel!" Dipper rescued the box and brushed off the top layer of dust. "We'll take it back to the shack," he said. "Maybe one of Stan's tools will get it open."

Mabel tugged Waddles out of a stand of what looked like orange bamboo and – ignoring the fact that the pig was now grunting in a happy minor third – they headed back to the Mystery Shack.

None of them noticed the trail of greenish light leaking from one of the rust spots on the box…or the way it followed them home.


	2. Chapter 2

There wasn't time to further explore the box when they got back to the Shack, though. First, Grunkle Stan announced that Wendy had gone home sick and would they go work the gift shop because he had a tour coming in ten minutes and someone had to watch the register.

Then Soos shouted from the back that the bathroom drains were plugged so nobody flush or use the sink until he fixed it, dudes.

By the time the last car-sick day-tripper had gone and the drains had stopped smelling mysteriously of baked beans, it was well past seven o'clock. Mabel made a stack of her famous cheese-chip-and-ketchup sandwiches for dinner, and Dipper scarfed his down – nearly choking to death on a shard of BBQ potato chip – as quickly as he could.

"Come on," he urged his sister. She took a final swig of milk, wiped off the (impressive) milk mustache, and followed him up to the attic, where the box waited.

But no matter how they tapped and pried and poked and prodded, the box refused to yield its contents.

"Just hack it open!" Mabel finally exclaimed in frustration. She pulled out a hammer and chisel from the tool box and brandished them threateningly.

"But what if we break whatever's inside?" Dipper protested.

"Just open it! The suspense is killing me!" She flopped back dramatically, and closed her eyes, holding the chisel and hammer in the air.

Dipper sighed, but he had to agree. At this point, it was worth the risk.

He took the tools from Mabel's "unconscious" grip and positioned the chisel over one of the box's rust spots. Raising the hammer he—

"Dipper!" Mabel exclaimed.

"Whoa…" Dipper lowered the hammer.

Silver, glowing lines and shapes flowed across the lid and sides of the box, flickering from one side to the other as if the entire box was a high-tech screen. Dipper pulled the chisel away from the box – and the silvery lines vanished.

"Huh," he said. He touched the tool back to the metal, and the images immediately glowed to life again.

"It's like it knows what I'm doing," he said. "And it's to – to what? Stop me?"

"Maybe warn you?" Mabel's eyes reflected the silver glow. "It's so pretty…"

He didn't say it aloud, but Dipper agreed. The glowing lines were hypnotic – and they didn't seem disturbing so much as cautionary. He had the most distinct feeling that they were concerned – or at least that whoever had put them there was concerned.

"Maybe…maybe we should leave it alone for tonight," Dipper said, removing the chisel from the box's surface. The figures and lines faded away, leaving only the rust-spotted metal. "At least until I can look up some of these symbols and find out what they mean."

His sister gave a little groan and flung her arm over her face. "Ok," she agreed reluctantly. "But tomorrow, we are going to _own_ this thing."

"Kids," Grunkle Stan's voice floated up from the living room. "Your show is on!"

Mabel jumped up. "Into the Unknown!" she exclaimed "It's the season finale!"

Dipper followed his sister out of the room, glancing back only once at the box sitting in the middle of the attic floor.

"It can wait until morning," he told himself, flipping off the attic light and closing the door.

The box sat, silent, on the worn floorboards.

Moonlight streamed in through the window, creeping across the floor as the moon rose.

It touched the edge of the box.

The silvery lines burst into liquid flame, franticly rippling over the dented surface.

The box rattled.

Greenish light seeped into the corners of the silver runes, outlining the figures with an eldritch glow. The box rattled again, skittering across the floor. More green – like a glowing smoke – began to seep through the most damaged spots, where rust had weakened the metal. It pooled on the floor, pouring out faster and faster – like one of those Halloween cauldrons filled with dry ice.

There was a low hissing noise, now, and the cloud of glowing mist began to solidify into the shape of a ghostly serpent, not so much puddled around the box as _coiled_.

A head – loosely-defined, but definitely fanged – lifted up and flicked a misty tongue at the moon.

And then it fled, slithering away into the shadows, where it vanished, leaving the room silent and still and the box empty in the moonlight.

.*.*.*.

* * *

.*.*.*.

A/N:

So this thing will be updating on Fridays, looks like, and while the chapters are almost obscenely short, at least it will be regular (which is more than I can say for some of my old Sherlock fics *wince*) Also, anyone who caught the Over the Garden Wall reference - hi. :) I don't actually watch OtGW, but I thought Mabel and Dipper might, and these fandoms collide often enough as it is... Plus it was better than a gratuitous Ducktective reference. And finally: stay tuned! Next chapter is when the action truly begins. See you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

All was silent in the Mystery Shack.

Well – in a manner of speaking. From one room came the _rattle-rumble-squeak_ of Grunkle Stan snoring, mingling with the _tick-tick-tick-tock_ of the unreliable grandfather clock in the hall. The kitchen sink was dripping and the thin _plink_ of each drop kept a steady rhythm, accompanied by the reedy creaking of the old floorboards that settled and shifted in the night. The rasping calls of cicadas and the occasional _hooo_ of an owl in the woods filtered in through drafty windows. And somewhere in the house, there was an unmistakable _hissss_ ing sound.

In Dipper and Mabel's attic room, the twins were sound asleep. Dipper had one arm thrown over his face, and one of his socks had worked its way off, leaving a lone foot poking out of the covers. Mabel was curled up like one of her own yarn-balls, the covers pulled up like a hood over her head and a pink plush unicorn in her arms. She mumbled something in her sleep and smiled dreamily.

The hissing grew nearer.

Not louder – only nearer. As if the source of the sound was making an effort to be silent as it crept closer to the sleeping twins.

From a crack in the baseboards near the door, something flickered greenly, the questing tongue of a serpent. An arrow-shaped head slipped into the room, followed by long ropes of half-translucent body, until the green-mist creature was entirely visible, its edges flickering oddly and the texture of the floorboards visible through its undulating form.

Dipper shifted in his bed, the lost sock flopping to the floor.

The serpent froze, its bright eyes slanting toward the boy with the same watchful look mortal snakes gave potential prey. Its tongue flickered again, tasting the air.

Then its head swung toward the other bed: toward Mabel, whose nose was scrunching against some unpleasant dream.

A low hiss – lower than before, almost a purr – came from the green creature, and it seethed across the floor in sinuous waves, without hesitation or second thoughts. It raised itself up as it reached the bed, its head coming level with Mabel's face.

The long green tongue appeared, fluttering against Mabel's cheek.

She frowned, a sleep-heavy hand swiping at the spot.

The serpent's head weaved slightly, and hissed.

Mabel's eyes opened.

Widened.

She opened her mouth to shout and—

The serpent vaporized, the mist flowing into Mabel's lungs.

Her eyes flashed green.

And then they dimmed. Closed.

And Mabel slept.

.

. .

* * *

. .

.

"Kids!"

Grunkle Stan's shout was what woke Dipper from a dream about gnomes who were insisting on being called geh-nomes – no silent "g," that was human nonsense – and plotting to take over the world by launching a geh-nomish satellite that would project geh-nomish thoughts into everyone's brains.

He sat up and shook his head. "Wow," he muttered, licking dry lips. " _That_ was weird. Even for me."

He glanced over at his sister, who was still buried under the covers. "Come on, Mabel," he said. "Up and at 'em."

"Dipper!" Grunkle Stan shouted again. "Get down here and help me with this—"

A crashing sound interrupted him, and Dipper winced at the string of half-muffled curses that floated up the stairs.

"Coming!" Dipper scrambled out of bed, shucked the one sock that had survived the night, and replaced his sleeping shirt with a tee. "Mabel – come on, Grunkle Stan needs our help with… something."

He tugged at the blanket.

Mabel didn't move.

"Mabel?" Dipper poked his sister's shoulder. Then shook it. "Mabel, wake up!"

Panic growing in his chest, Dipper pushed back the blankets to see Mabel's face. She was breathing – slowly, shallowly – but her eyes stayed closed.

"Mabel?"

Dipper's hands were shaking, and he shouted at the top of his lungs, not caring how his voice cracked.

" _Grunkle Stan!"_

* * *

 _..._

* * *

AN: Short chapter is short. So is chapter note. This thing took me three tries to upload thanks to the massively overloaded wifi at this joint. :P Hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment if you did - I thrive on the words from your silver fingers - and I'll see ya'll next Friday. :) ~Maggie


	4. Chapter 4

They couldn't wake her. No amount of noise, cold washcloths on her forehead, strong smells – Dipper even threatened to throw her craft supplies into the bottomless pit. Nothing roused Mabel from her sleep.

Grunkle Stan called 911, and paramedics came in an ambulance, bumping down the rutted road to the shack with lights that turned the forest into a horrible carnival of red and blue. Dipper watched helplessly as they loaded his unresponsive sister onto a stretcher and into the vehicle.

"Come on, kid," Stan said, hopping into his jalopy. "We'll follow the ambulance."

* * *

It was a silent ride to the hospital – Dipper chewed on the neck of his tee-shirt the whole way, sick to his stomach with fear. No real thoughts formed in his mind – just abstract, disconnected words like _Mabel_ , _sleeping, coma, sick, sister, journal_ and once, horribly, _forever?_

He sat in the waiting room on a plastic couch while Stan filled out a mountain of paperwork (muttering the whole time and probably making up anything he didn't immediately know). When they finally let him into Mabel's room, he could hardly focus his eyes on any one thing. The flashed over the room, to Mabel's still face, to the window and back, like a cornered animal seeking escape.

"She doesn't seem to have any trauma or infection," a doctor was telling Stan. Dipper reached out to touch Mabel's hand, laying pale and still on the even-paler hospital bedding. She felt warm and solid, and he breathed a little sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing a tiny bit.

"Well, why's she not waking up then?" Stan's gruff voice was shrill with something like panic.

The doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyebrows creasing. "We don't know, not yet. Has she seemed confused the last day or two? Not herself in any way?"

Stan looked at Dipper, who shook his head. "She was perfectly normal," he said. "Well – normal for Mabel, anyway."

The doctor sighed. "We'll have to do some tests. There are a few options we'll need to rule out, but—" he glanced down at Dipper, then back at Stan. "Can I speak with you in the hall?"

Stan looked down at Dipper. "Uh – yeah. Sure," he said. "Be right back, kid."

Dipper knew what the doctor wanted to tell Stan. _Prognosis not good_ , he imagined the man saying. _Need to call their parents._ He watched Stan follow the doctor out of the room, and gritted his teeth. Not on his watch.

"Don't worry, Mabel," he whispered. "I'll find something – I'll figure out what did this."

The heart monitor beeped, a soft and steady sound that soothed him. Mabel was strong – stronger than he was, always. She'd get through this. He just had to find out how.

Dipper fell asleep with his nose buried in the spine of the journal and his legs curled up under him in the uncomfortable hospital chair beside Mabel's bed. They'd tried to convince him to go home, but one pleading look at Stan was all it took. He was staying until he had a reason to leave – like combing the forest for the magic plant or curse-breaking genie that would wake his sister up.

* * *

When Dipper woke, his neck stiff and both feet numb, Stan was sitting in the other chair, watching reruns of a boxing match on the hospital television. Dipper rubbed his face and tried to stand – stumbling when his blood-deprived feet gave out under him.

"Whoa, kid," Stan said, reaching over and steadying him. "What's your hurry."

Dipper sighed and sat back down. "Nothing, I guess." He propped his chin on his hand and stared at his sister.

Stan followed his gaze. He cleared his throat. Twice. "Listen," he finally managed. "Ah, Dipper – there's something I should probably tell—"

"Save it," Dipper waved his grunkle's words away. "I know what you're going to say. And I don't believe it. Mabel's going to be fine."

A sympathetic grimace crossed Stan's face. "Your parents are on their way," he said quietly. "Their plane leaves first thing in the morning."

Dipper's hands clenched on the worn cover of the red journal. "Mabel's going to be _fine_ ," he repeated. There had to be something he'd missed – had she eaten something in the woods yesterday? Maybe one of the things Waddles had nibbled? He hadn't checked the pig – what if Waddles was like this too? That could be the key to this whole—

"Dipper…" Grunkle Stan rubbed at the back of his neck and muted the television. "Look, you're probably right. She'll be fine. But—"

"But nothing, Grunkle Stan," Dipper interrupted firmly. He jumped to his prickling feet and paced the long side of the room, from the door to the window and back. "Look, I don't expect you to understand. But she's my _twin_. She has to be ok, because if she's not, it's…it's…" he couldn't finish the sentence. There was no reality in which there was Dipper and no Mabel. It didn't compute.

A spasm of pain crossed his grunkle's face, and Stan sighed.

"I do understand," he said. His voice, usually rough and caustic, was so quiet that Dipper could hardly hear him over the low whirring of the hospital machinery.

Dipper frowned. "What do you—"

The lights flickered.

Dipper's eyes flew to Mabel's face, and widened in shock.

She was looking at him – her eyes were wide open, saucerlike in her pale face. But they weren't Mabel's eyes. Not the warm chocolate brown he saw every day, or saw in the mirror when he looked at his own face.

These eyes were green, and glowed like toxic waste in a movie from the seventies.

Dipper and Stan stared at Mabel, open-mouthed, while the lights and the television flickered madly.

"…help," Mabel whispered.

Then her eyes closed.

The lights calmed, and Dipper's blood-deprived legs finally gave out from under him.

Stan was still staring at his unconscious niece, his mouth opening and closing in shock. Finally, he managed to say:

"Kid – gimme that journal."

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Hey, guys. How about that episode Monday, huh? *is very dead* Nothing is ok and everything hurts. .

Well, one or two things are ok. For example, this fic is now complete and only needs to be published, and I have nearly finished the next adventure fic - I'll give you a preview, it involves an impostor at the Shack, Wendy being amazing, and Mabel saving the day. :D I'll begin posting it as soon as this one is over, which is approximately four chapters/weeks away.

Leave a comment if you please, and I'll see you next Friday!

~Maggie


	5. Chapter 5

"Whaddya think, goblins?" Stan stabbed a finger at an illustration.

"Doubtful," Dipper said. "We didn't eat any weird fruit. What about some kind of…were-beast?"

"No fur. Or claws. Or anything… beasty. How about a poltergeist?"

"I think a poltergeist would cause more damage to the house and stuff." Dipper chewed on the cap of his pen. "But it would explain the lights…"

"Kid, most of the paranormal stuff messes with modern technology. You shoulda seen the time the Shack got a brownie infestation." Stan shuddered. "I still have nightmares. And they busted up the electricity for months. I had lights that put out _darkness_. It was that bad."

They were sitting at a corner booth in the hospital cafeteria, hunched over the journal like two schoolboys over a hot-rod magazine. Dipper flipped page after page, barely glancing at unhelpful diagrams of full moons, sentient trees, and weeping rocks. They'd been through the book twice already, once with a black-light, and he knew there was nothing helpful here.

"Gaah," he moaned, slumping back. "There's _nothing_ in here about enchanted sleep."

"Maybe we just need to get someone to kiss her." Grunkle Stan straightened his glasses. "Is she still stuck on that mer-kid?"

"He's married. And I think that only works with fairy spells." Nudging the journal with a dispirited finger, Dipper chewed on his lip.

Stan closed the book. "Ok," he said. "That's enough for now."

"What? No!"

"Yes," Stan said, his tone final. "You're going back to the Shack for a shower and a nap in a real bed. And I need to check on Soos, make sure he's not having any problems. The doc'll call us if anything changes, and you can look around your room and wherever you were yesterday. See if anything jumps out at you." He thought over that sentence. "Literally _or_ figuratively."

Dipper wasn't happy about it, but he allowed his grunkle to shepherd him back out to the (very crookedly- and possibly illegally-parked) jalopy in the parking lot, gripping the journal under his arm like a lifeline. He _had_ to figure out what had gone wrong. What had attacked Mabel? It couldn't be something as mundane as a medical condition. Not in their lives – not in Gravity Falls. It had to be something… else.

But what?

They found the Shack pretty much as they'd left it, and Soos was in the gift shop doing inventory.

"How's Mabel?" he asked as soon as they walked in. "Is she alright? What's wrong? Are they going to have to do a brain transplant?"

"She's still out and those don't actually exist. Yet." Stan said, pushing past the handyman to check the register. He opened the drawer and started counting bills. It wasn't that he didn't trust Soos, Dipper knew. Stan just...did that. Counted his money when he was stressed.

"You want to help me check the attic?" Dipper asked Soos. "We're looking for anything… weird. Hex bags or weird drawings or plants or…well, anything."

"Sure, dude." Soos followed Dipper up the stairs to the twin's bedroom, and stood behind him while he stared into the room from the doorway.

"Um… we going in or what?"

"I'm trying to see if everything is where I left it," Dipper said, eyes scanning the room. "Wait a minute…" His eyes were drawn to the silver box sitting in the middle of the floor. In all the panic over Mabel, he'd completely forgotten about it... But now it struck him as very, _very_ suspicious.

He rushed forward and grabbed the box, which rattled hollowly. "This box!" he exclaimed. "We found it yesterday, in the woods."

"Dude, you find, like, a lot of weird stuff in the woods," Soos pointed out. "Way more than me, and I've lived here pretty much my whole life."

"Can't help it," Dipper said, his attention distracted by the dented metal in his hands. "It's more like… it finds me." He poked at one corner. "There's a seam here!"

"A seam?" Soos moved closer and squinted at the box.

"Yesterday there was nothing. No lid, no latch – nothing. But today…" Dipper grasped the top of the box and wrestled with it for a second.

It popped off in his hand.

" _Today_ it has a lid!" he held it up triumphantly, and looked down inside the box.

There, lightly dusted with the debris of who-knows-how-long, was a small metal disk, and a leather book.

Dipper handed the box's lid to Soos and pulled out the book. About the size of a pack of cards, its leather cover was cracked and discolored. He carefully opened it, and read the first line aloud:

" _If you're reading this, may God have mercy on your soul_."


	6. Chapter 6

Dipper and Soos sat on the edge of Dipper's bed, the tiny leather-bound book between them. Dipper read aloud, slowly deciphering words made nearly illegible by time and a ridiculously curly penmanship style.

" _Our Companie set forthe for the Western coast with seventy-three Souls_." Dipper followed along with his finger, feeling the indentations of the letters on the thick parchment. " _We arrived Here, in these verdant Hills, in the late Summer and began to Construct a Forte and rough Hovels for oure Livelihood."_

"Dude, this guy liked his 'e's." Soos peered over Dipper's arm. "He's got like, six curls on each one."

"That's just how they wrote back then," Dipper said, squinting at the next line. "Hang on – I think this is important." He cleared his throat.

" _Know ye: in the third Weeke of our new Lives, we encountered a Moste Strange and Devilish Force. In the Shape of a Wyrm – that deadly threat from Ancient Dayes – it came amongst us, felling the Hardy and the Weak alike. Women and Children, Men and olde ones, until more than Halfe our numbers were taken by its Diverse Harmes and fell into a deep Sleepe from which they could not be awakened, a Super-natural sleep wherein the Eyes of the Afflicted shone an Unearthly Green."_

"That's just like Mabel!" Soos exclaimed.

"I know, I know – just let me concentrate!" The next few lines were smudged, as if whoever had written them was in a hurry and had smeared the still-wet ink with a rushed finger.

" _We Consulted with bothe our Cleric and our Doctor – who is a man of moste Modern methods – but they neither had the Cure for the Peril that had befallen us. No Medicines or Prayers woke our Sleeping brethren, no Scripture or scholarly Booke held the answers we sought. Daily the number of those Stricken grew, and within the Fortnight full six of our Companie were passed beyond this Vale of Sorrow. And so we turned to a Tribe of local Inhabitants, with whom we had Briefly established Trade before our Calamity befell us."_

Below in the Shack, the telephone rang. Dipper froze, ears tuned to the sounds of his grunkle hurrying toward the phone and answering it.

"Hello? Stan Pines here. …Yes. …No. …We'll reopen when I say we reopen!"

Stan hung up the phone with a bang, and stalked back across the house, his footsteps creaking across the old boards.

Dipper returned to the book.

" _The Wise Woman of the Tribe, a Woman of surpassing Beauty and Sweete of Voice, let it be known to our Company that there was an Evil in the Woods of this place. In form like a Serpent, it drinks of the Dreames of its Prey, and can only be Defeated by drawing it Forthe with Sweete Music and trapping it in a Mirror of Gold."_

"That must be the mirror!" Soos reached over and grabbed the small metal disk from the box. "Dude this thing is heavy."

"It's _gold_ , Soos." Dipper flipped the page of the journal. "There's just a bit more here:

" _If ye have opened forthe this Boxe, which we have Sealed with both Magics and a Prayer, ye have Loosed the Serpent upon thine own Companie. Be ye wary! The Serpent is cunning as only a Beaste can be, but it has one weakness: play ye Sweete music in its hearing and it will be Drawn forthe from its Victims as Poison from a Deadly Wound, and then may be Trapped within a Golden Mirror for a Time. Thou must then Seal it within a Container plated with the Signs we ourselves Inscribed on this Boxe. Godspeed to ye, and may thy Encounter with the Serpent not cost ye so many Lives as did our own._

 _Sincerely, Captain Morgan Jeremiah Lance."_

Soos and Dipper looked at each other.

"So…other than the fact that I really need to brush up on my Old English, what do we know now?" Soos asked.

"That we've got to get back to the hospital," Dipper exclaimed. "All we have to do is… ' _Playe Sweete music'_ and it will leave Mabel alone!"

"Uh, no offense dude, but I've heard you sing. And play on that tuba of yours."

"It's a _euphonium_."

"My point is: that's not exactly 'sweete music.' And they don't allow radios or cell phones in the ICU."

Dipper frowned, thinking. He stared out the window, trying to think of a way to smuggle Grunkle Stan's boxy radio into the hospital. On the lawn, Waddles was sitting and staring at the driveway, clearly waiting for his mistress to reappear. The poor creature's ears drooped despondently.

Dipper's eyes fixed on the pig. A smile spread across his face as an idea blossomed.

"They may not allow radios," he said. "But they allow therapy animals, right?"

* * *

So...who is seriously messed up after Weirdmageddon Part One? This girl! *grimace*  
Seriously, and we have to wait a MONTH for more? I'm going to wither away before then.

Anyway, only two more chapters to go on Snake in the Glass - the next chapter is the climax (and much longer, I swear), and then a bit of an epilogue - and then I shall start posting the still-yet-to-be-named fic about Stan, and an impostor in the Shack, and Wendy being clever, and potential Dipper pain and Mabel saving the day... yeah. Looking forward to that.

So, leave a comment if convenient (if inconvenient, comment anyway), and I'll see you all next Friday!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Here it is, the big chapter of drama. :) If I were Alex Hirsch, you'd get halfway through this chapter and then it would say "to be continued" but I'm NOT actually an evil mastermind, so that's not what happens here. LOL In fact, this is by far the longest chapter in this fic.

Anyway, there's this chapter and then an epilogue and then on to the next fic, which I'm still working on a name for... It's NaNoWriMo this month, though, so my brain has been otherwise occupied.

Please enjoy, and leave a comment letting me know what you think! I _really_ want to know how you react to this chapter, as I'm rather happy with it myself. :D

See you next Friday!

\- Essie

* * *

Waddles was officially a Therapy Pig. His cape said so.

"Is that… Sharpie on a dish towel?" the nurse asked, eyeing the pig uncertainly.

Dipper clutched the box under one arm and the improvised leash attacked to Waddle's collar in the other hand. "Noooo," he said. "It's not. It may _look_ like it, but… it's… it's not."

The nurse shrugged. "Right, then. Follow me."

He led them down the white-tiled hall to Mabel's room, pushing open the door and allowing Grunkle Stan, Dipper, and the be-caped Waddles to enter.

"I'll be down the hall at the nurse's station if you need anything," the nurse said, his voice lowering to a whisper – as if he might wake Mabel. As if that would be a bad thing. "Just hit the button by the bed."

Grunkle Stan shut the door in the man's face, and dragged a chair over to the door. "Just doing a little hoo-doo," he said, wedging the chair under the handle. "Nothing to see here."

The room was darker than Dipper remembered, the contrast with the sunny day outside nearly obscene. He sat the box – with Captain Lance's book inside – down on the floor beside Mabel's bed and crossed the room to the window. With a grunt, he threw open the curtains, letting in a shaft of bright sunshine that fell across Mabel's still form like a spotlight.

"I hope you know what you're doing, kid," Grunkle Stan muttered. "Your parents get in in an hour. I _really_ don't want to have to have this conversation with them."

"You won't need to, Grunkle Stan." Dipper said. He forced his voice to be solid and confident, but his hand shook. If this didn't work, he wasn't sure what to do next. There was nothing more in the tiny book from the box, and the mysterious author of _his_ journal had nothing to say about evil dream-eating snakes.

This _would_ work.

He pulled Waddles away from the artificial plant in the corner and dug out the magenta clippings he had smuggled into the hospital in his pockets. They were mangled and slightly wilting, but Waddles' ears pricked when he caught the scent.

"Here ya go, boy," Dipper said, holding the weeds out for the pig to snuffle. "Eat up."

Waddles took the clippings daintily – or at least, as daintily as Waddles did anything – and munched.

And burped. In a perfect C minor 7th chord.

Mabel stirred.

Dipper shot to the side of the bed. "It's working!" he exclaimed. "It's going to work – we just have to get Waddles to do more!"

Stan cracked his knuckles. "Leave that to me," he said. "I know exactly how to make this pig squeal."

Dipper looked at him in concern. "You're not going to…hurt him?"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Geez, kid, what do you think I am? No, I'm not going to hurt the pig." He squatted down on the floor and looked Waddles dead in the eyes. "I just know his weak spots."

Quick as a wink, his hands shot out and grabbed the pig right behind his front legs.

And tickled.

Waddles started squealing – something between a porcine giggle and a Beethoven symphony. There was no actual melody, but the sequences of snorted chords was pleasant to hear – Dipper couldn't help the grin that snuck across his face. He whirled around to watch the effect of the music on Mabel.

Her head tossed back and forth on the white hospital pillow, a look of fierce concentration wrinkling her face. She groaned softly, and a wisp of something green and smoke-like filtered through her lips.

Waddles hit a perfect chromatic scale, and more of the green mist seeped out, gathering around Mabel's neck and shoulders like a vile-colored shawl.

"Come on, come on," Dipper urged. Stan redoubled his efforts, Waddles collapsing to the ground in a fit of piggish – and musical-ish – laughter.

Mabel's eyes opened wide, staring blankly at the ceiling overhead and her mouth stretched open. She sighed, long and deep, and something sickly green – a foggy mist, sluggish like a python gorged on goat – poured from her lungs to curl up on her chest.

Dipper frantically dug into his pocket for the golden disk – polished to a high sheen by Soos – and held it up next to the undefined _thing_ on his sister.

"How do I trap it?" he exclaimed in a panic. "It didn't say, there weren't instructions!"

Stan released Waddles, who slumped in a contented and still-slightly-giggly pile of piggy bliss on the floor. "I don't know!" Stan snatched the disk away from Dipper's fingers.

"Give that back!" Dipper grabbed it back and waved it in front of the mass of greenish mist. "Get…get in the mirror, you…You thing!"

As if roused by his words, the mist shifted and solidified. A tendril lifted into the air, forming into a wedge-shaped head, with two bright and beady eyes staring Dipper in the face.

"Snake!" Grunkle Stan took a step back.

Dipper froze, locked in the snake's sights. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move – couldn't blink. Its tongue flickered, and a hissing voice rasped through the air.

" _I wasss not finished dining."_

Dipper shuddered. "You were eating her dreams," he accused the snake. Its head dipped in acknowledgement.

" _Such sssweet thingsss,_ " it hissed. " _Deliciousss._ "

"Leave her alone!" Dipper wrapped his fingers – sweaty with fear – around the edge of the golden mirror. "You can't have her!"

If an immaterial snake of green mist could laugh, this one did. Worse than that, it gave a sophisticated chuckle – the chuckle of an old rich miser amused by a child who dropped their ice cream. " _I already have her,_ " it said, patronizing. " _And when I'm finished with her, I'll have you and your dreams."_ It began to swell, from the size of a rattlesnake to the size of a python. " _And every dream in this valley and then every dream in this region and then_ —"

"Yeah, yeah," Grunkle Stan gritted out. He was still standing behind Dipper, but his voice was forcibly strong. "And then the world, we get it. You megalomaniacs are all alike."

The snake towered over both of them, but didn't move its unblinking gaze from Dipper's face. " _You have released me from my prison,_ " it said, ignoring Stan. " _For that, I will eat your nightmares first and leave you your happy dreams for last._ "

"You won't have me or my dreams," Dipper said, gritting his teeth. "And _you won't have my sister!"_

Before the serpent could look away, he thrust the golden disk forward – and held it between his face and the serpent's gaze. The beady eyes locked on their reflection in the shining metal.

 _"Nooooo,"_ it hissed, rearing back. " _Not again!"_

But it was too late. With a sound like water boiling over on a stove, the green mist boiled up in a seething froth and whisked through the air, funneling into the surface of the golden mirror.

It hissed and screamed as it was sucked into the mirror, the sheer fury of the noise sending Waddles under the bed in fright and slicing into Dipper's eardrums. Somewhere in the hall, an alarm went off and someone began pounding on the room door. The metal grew hot – so hot that Dipper's eyes watered at the searing pain. He could feel his fingers blistering, but he held the disk in place until the last tendril was gone.

He sagged back, and Grunkle Stan caught him under the arms.

"Whoa, kid," Stan exclaimed. "Steady there."

Dipper – with a hiss of pain – dropped the disk into the box beside the bed. It landed with a heavy _chunk_ , its golden surface now clouded with a layer of green tarnish. "Tarnish" that rippled even as he watched.

He dropped to his knees and slammed the lid onto the box. It shuddered, and the runes on its surface flared to brilliant life, a line of white fire rimming the edge of the lid. Dipper threw his arm in front of his eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. Where the line of the lid's edge had been was nothing but smooth metal – even the rust spots had vanished, repaired by whatever magic had sealed the box.

He sat there for a moment, the cool tile of the hospital floor seeping through the knees of his jeans.

There was a rustling noise from the bed. Dipper looked up just in time to see his sister's head poke over the edge of the mattress.

"Dipper?" she yawned. "Why are you on the floor?"

A grin the size of Texas stretched across Dipper's face. "Would you believe me if I told you your pig just helped me save you from a dream-eating snake?"

She raised an eyebrow. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you have something to eat while you tell me. I'm _starving_."


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Mr. and Mrs. Pines arrived at the hospital, Mabel had charmed the doctor into letting her use his stethoscope on the still-musical Waddles and Dipper was fumbling to open a candy bar with bandaged hands.

They'd managed to cobble together some kind of halfway sensical explanation for the hospital staff – who'd finally managed to burst through Grunkle Stan's chair-barricade – though, if you'd asked anyone involved, there wasn't a soul in the building who could actually tell you what had happened.

Well, not a soul that was talking anyway. Dipper and Stan told Mabel everything, of course, but she was the only other one who knew why Dipper wouldn't let the silver box out of his sight.

"I'm going to bury it again," he told her, trying to get a grip on the slippery candy wrapper. "But I'm going to lock it in another box, and put that box in a _bigger_ box with a notebook explaining _everything_ and then _lock_ that box and bury it twenty feet underground. And then plant poison ivy on top of it."

She took the candy bar from him, popped open the wrapper, and handed it back. "Sounds like a plan. I'll draw pictures and add a few stickers for emphasis. I've got a whole page of _caution_ and _crime scene – do not cross_ stickers at home."

They were sitting on Mabel's hospital bed, waiting for their parents to finish re-doing the paperwork for the hospital – apparently Grunkle Stan had listed Pitt Cola as their insurance provider. He was back at the Shack – hadn't even stayed to say much more than "Hello" and "Goodbye" when the Pines parents arrived.

The twins sat in silence for a moment, Dipper munching his chocolate bar, and Mabel tracing circles with her finger on the top of the silver box.

"They'll let us stay the rest of the summer, won't they?" she finally asked.

Dipper swallowed. "Mom already said probably," he said. "Dad might take some convincing but if we point out how expensive plane tickets are, and how long it would take to rent a car and drive back, we'll probably manage."

She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Good."

He held the candy bar out to her for a bite. "So, Mabel…" He'd been dying to ask, but this was the first chance they'd really had to be alone since she woke up. "What…what was it like?"

She nibbled the chocolate and sat up, shrugging. "I don't really remember," she said. "But every time I'd start to have a dream, it would kinda…disappear around the edges. It was weird. But not scary."

He didn't say anything for a moment, rubbing the edge of his bandage. "It was pretty scary out here," he finally admitted.

"Aw, bro-bro," Mabel grinned and shoved his arm. "Didja miss me?"

"Ow," Dipper rubbed his shoulder in mock pain. He grinned back. "Nah – I just missed having someone to blame the disappearance of Grunkle Stan's butterscotch toffees on."

"I _knew_ you were the one eating those!"

Someone pushed the room door open, and from out in the hall they heard their mom's voice. "Come on, you two," she called. "We're going to go out for some dinner."

Together, they hopped off the bed and headed toward the door, the silver box tucked securely under Dipper's arm.

"So," Mabel said as they followed their parents out of the hospital. "Are you glad we didn't stay at the Shack and waste our time doing the same stuff we'd do back home?"

Dipper gripped the edge of the box. "Not particularly," he said.

She grimaced. "Ok, me neither. How about no more weird stuff for the rest of the summer, whaddya say?"

"Fine by me," Dipper said firmly.

He glanced sideways at his twin.

She glanced sideways at him.

And they both cracked up laughing.

"Ha! Yeah, right!" Mabel chortled. "That would be so _boring_."

"No weird would be weird," Dipper agreed. "After all – it _is_ Gravity Falls."

 ** _FIN_**

* * *

And...roll credits! Hope you liked reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it. :D (Also...yeah, getting Mabel out of the hospital that quick after she's been in a coma is probably completely unrealistic. But so is getting possessed by an ancient dream-eating snake ghost, so... yeah. And I was uncomfortable keeping them anywhere but the Shack and the town for much longer too. :P)

I've got the next story queued and ready to post, so check back next Friday for the first chapter in a new adventure: _A Pack of Lies._

 _A stranger appears at the Shack claiming to be Stan's long-lost son. But is he telling the truth? If so – what will happen to Dipper and Mabel's summer? And if he's lying… Why?_

See you then! (and reviews are more precious to me than infinity-sided dice, so if you liked it, leave me a review or a smilie or your favorite Bill insult, and I shall be mightily pleased. :D)

~Essie


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